


Oreo

by egp1267



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bullying, Inter-race racism, M/M, School Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6519217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egp1267/pseuds/egp1267
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When there's no where left to run some times you have no choice but to stand up for yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oreo

**Author's Note:**

> The term Oreo is a slur used by some black people towards other black people who they perceive are "not black enough" (black on the outside/white on the inside)

Damon gathered his lunch and shuffled through the cafeteria, his eyes, as usual, to the floor. He found an empty table at the far end, fairly clean, and sat down. He opened his bottle of apple juice and briefly inspected the main dish. After deeming it passable he took out his physics homework and began to diligently pour over it, absently gnawing at his lunch.  
Large shadows passed by and Damon suddenly cursed himself for so carelessly letting his guard down. Tyrell and his crew were around him in an instant, sneering and cackling like marauding hyenas.  
“Yo, Damon! What’s up!” Tyrell raised his hand to slap Damon’s hand but Damon simply frowned realizing he was trapped and isolated.  
Behold! Tyrell Jerome McFadden, Damon’s exhibit A in the declining standards of the young African-American male; a willing slave to the Hip-Hop culture from his black doo-rag to his gold-capped teeth. The only thing Tyrell was ever loyal to was his chiseled frame that he proudly showed off often. It helped him to attract numerous foolish girls that he used and abused constantly and never once suffered the consequences.  
His eager companions were the massive, oafish Dewayne who seemed to live solely off of the radiant callousness that was Tyrell’s sole emotion. Even worse was Tyrone. A stout fire hydrant of a boy, to say he was as intelligent as a fire hydrant was an insult to fire hydrants. All Damon had ever heard out of Tyrone’s mouth were short one-syllable responses or coughed out venomous laughter at Tyrell’s horrific escapades.  
Damon quickly pleaded. “Tyrell, please. I’ve got wor-“  
Tyrell’s smile suddenly turned threatening. “What? I can’t sit with you? You too good for us?” Damon looked down and tried to shrink into his book.  
“Man, I think he’s dissin’ you, ‘rel.” Dewayne piped in.  
“ I think you’re right, Dewayne. Yo Damon! Why you keep turnin’ your back on your brothers?”  
“Leave me alone.” Damon grumbled.  
“ What was that? ‘scuse me?” Tyrell put his hand up to his ear and started to mock Damon’s brief defiance with rancorous pantomime. “ Oh I know you didn’t just talk back to me like that!”  
Tyrell’s companions cackled as if they were cued. They sensed that the opportunity for the kill was near. Damon simply rolled his eyes and tried his best to bury himself in his work.  
“ I’m talkin’ to you, punk!” Tyrell snatched the book away from Damon and hurled it to the other side of the table. It landed clean on the surface and skidded onto the dingy floor near a pack of nervous freshmen. They briefly looked towards the commotion and then, just as quickly, looked away; careful not to let their eyes stray from their inner circle; afraid they’d be next.  
“I asked you a question: Why you turnin’ your back on your brother?” Tyrell leaned towards Damon; the heat of menace crawled into the space between them.  
Damon felt a searing ball of lava form in his throat and radiate into his cheeks. His eyes began to sting but he promised himself, he would not cry. Not for them. Their kind didn’t deserve such precious treasures of intimacy. Not anymore. Not when he used to rush up to his room and sob at the end of his bed after a day of humiliation. Not like the next morning when his stomach would be nearly twisted with anxiety. Damon would be so overwhelmed with the dread of facing their thoughtless cruelty for another day, that he couldn’t eat breakfast.  
No. More.  
Damon simply returned Tyrell’s intimidating stare and let anger entrench itself deep into his face.  
“ You aint my brother.” He spat.  
“ Damn right you aint my brother, Oreo.” Tyrell looked Damon up and down with mock disgust, not realizing that the stakes have suddenly gotten higher and playtime was over. “Aint no way I’m related to some half-asses wannabe like you. You think them books gonna make them forget? You’re still a nigger!”  
“That’s an excuse people like you use because you’re lazy.” Damon allowed himself a grin that was like an open scar. Tyrell’s confident aura waned briefly.  
“Like me? What? Black?”  
“No. Just stupid. Lazy.” Damon folder his hands together and looked directly at Tyrell to drive home his point. “Worthless.”  
“ Why you punk-ass Mother-“ Tyrell raised his fist but Damon didn’t even flinch.  
“That what it always leads to with you: action. Have you ever used your brain once in your pathetic life? You can’t even play a smart game of basketball.”  
At that very moment Damon knew he was crossing the line into dangerous territory. When Tyrell wasn’t playing pick-up games at the Y or down on the Bridge Street court, he was religiously at the gym making himself an even more athletic specimen than he already was. Humiliation burned like an open flame as he sat at the end of the bench during the season.  
All the blood ran from Tyrell’s face. Instinctively he sprung up and leaned wrathfully towards Damon.  
“Motherfucker!” he roared.  
Damon’s heart smashed madly against his rib cage and blood ran white hot through his veins. He willed himself not to shake; not so much from fear but from excitement. Curiosity raced through his mind. Just how far could he take this?  
He betrayed his inner turmoil and coolly stared back at the seething Tyrell.  
“Think about it: You’re the best athlete on the team. No one is as fast or as strong, or jumps as high as you do. Yet coach Langley keeps you on the bench for most of the game. Now why is that?”  
“Man, you’d better shut the Hell up before Tyrell stomps your sorry ass right here!” Dewayne laughed acrimoniously.  
Damon ignored Dewayne and continued. “Could it be your average of six turnovers in five minutes of play per game? Your lack of defense? Your inability to hit a shot from more than 15 feet away from the basket? Or is it your poor practice habits?”  
Tyrell lunged across the table at Damon, who had anticipated this reaction from him and jumped out of his seat, pressing his back firmly against the wall. Damon could see in Tyrell’s eyes pain coalescing with torrid anger. He was on the verge of tears. Damon on the other hand suddenly felt so cool and calm he thought he would see his own breath. An excited giggle escaped from his lips.  
“Let’s see how much your monkey-ass is laughin’ when I smack you upside your damn fool head!” Tyrell furiously shook his finger at the smirking Damon.  
“Yo, ‘rel. C’mon man, let’s go, the sentries will be commin’ around-“ Dewayne grabbed Tyrell’s arm to attempt to lead him away.  
“Get your damned hands off of me!” Tyrell’s snapped as he snatched his arm away from the stunned Dewayne. Tyrell gives him a hard two-handed shove to the chest that sent Dewayne reeling.  
“Nobody asked your fat ass anyhow!” Tyrell spat.  
“Yo man, ease up!” Tyrone chimed in startling everyone.  
“Man shut the fuck up!” Tyrell raged. “ Your ass never had anything to say before. What makes you think you got something to say now?”  
Tyrone shrunk to the size of a pea small enough to fall between the cracks in the floor. He sat down, looked away and rocked himself in testosterone comfort. Relieved that Tyrell’s brutal rebuttal was all he got.  
Dewayne surged towards Tyrell and rammed his thick paw so hard into Tyrell’s shoulder Damon thought he might tear it out.   
“I don’t know what the Hell you’re problem is but where do you get off talking to me like that?” Dewayne loomed over Tyrell like an angry dog staring down an uninvited rival. Tyrell’s arms went slack and he returned Dewayne’s searing glare with equal ferocity. Damon anticipated an opportunity for escape if it came to blows between the two and silently hoped for otherwise.” ‘cause some little twig decided to talk shit back to you, you gonna turn on me and Tyrone, just like that? What’s up with that?”  
Tyrell and Dewayne stood in tense silence measuring each other. Tyrell’s chest heaved with agitated breaths. Damon and Tyrone watched with nervous anticipation. Soon the tempest broke and Tyrell deflated. The remaining aftermath of their stare-down caused them to linger on for a few moments longer and then Tyrell unceremoniously broke it off without a word and turned back to Damon. He leaned across the table but there was no hazard in his action.  
“I’m gonna tell you something, Oreo.” Tyrell said in a low direct tone. “ I may not be the best basketball player on the team but at least I know who I am. You? You out there playin’ in the white man’s world like they’re gonna ever let you be anything more than a token. A number. That’s all you’ll ever be to them. That’s what you’re about.”  
“So because I try to better myself that makes me less a black man than you. Is that why you’re always messing with me?” Damon asked.  
“Hell yeah!” Tyrell joylessly chuckled. “ Man I’m doin’ your ass a favor. Your little Oreo ass needs some toughingin’ up. Might help you remember who you are.”  
“Know what I think? I think you’ re jealous of me.”  
Tyrell and Dewayne laughed like a seizure had overcome them. Even Tyrone allowed himself a cautious grin.  
“Yeah right!” Tyrell managed.  
“No check it out!” Damon volunteered. “I’m smart. I’m talented. I have a future. The world is my limitless playground. Your kind, on the other hand, spend their life tapping into undeserving rage that you hijack to fuel your pathetic excuses for your failed existence of hanging out on the corner in a shitty coat of ignorance. You claim to be a true black man but you’ve never known the pain and humiliation of slavery. You guys didn’t struggle along with the Freedom Riders of the sixties. Hell guys like you piss on Dr. Kings grave and throw every gift he fought to get you at his feet. All along you planned to fall into the predictable pattern of niggas who take to the streets. Selling drugs. Impregnating women you barley know, or want to know. Terrorizing the community until your inevitable violent end at the hands of another nigga who’ll do the same as you did before. And you’ll just rot away in a forgotten grave and nobody will remember you. And nobody will miss you.”  
Tyrell had worked his way around the table and was now towering over Damon. The edge to their conversation had suddenly returned. Damon slipped his hand into his pockets hoping not to reveal his brutal intent.  
“Is that so?” Tyrell growled. ”Well I’m here now. Let’s here you talk some of your shit now, Oreo!”  
“I’m not running.” Damon shrugged. Damon tried to mirror Tyrell’s glare but he was a good eight inches shorter than the senior. If you didn’t know the situation, you’d almost think it was comical. Damon carefully drew a large set of keys from his pocket that he had taken from his job at Mr. Jackson’s hardware store last night after closing. He held them slightly behind himself and let his arm go slack so Tyrell wouldn’t see what he was up to, careful not to jingle them.  
Tyrell reached to grab Damon by the throat.  
“What’s going on here?” boomed Mr. Sharpe.   
Damon’s and Tyrell’s attention were snatched from one another back to high school reality. Everyone in the room had been staring at them and had been doing so for some time now. Mr. Sharpe had been out in the hallway doing his usual shakedown of his usual suspects when the report of Damon and Tyrell’s open hostilities were reported to him. He now eased into the group and savored their unease of his presence, eyeing each and every one of them. Even Damon, who he, obviously, has had little reason to notice before. Damon was still weary of him and avoided him at all cost even though he probably never even knew his name.  
“I asked you a question, Tyrell!” Mr. Sharpe leaned his severe gaze onto Tyrell but all he could manage to draw out of Tyrell was mere contempt.  
“Nothing Mr. Sharpe.” Tyrell grimaced.  
Mr. Sharpe placed his meaty hands to his side and leaned towards Tyrell frowning as if Tyrell’s mere existence offended him. Damon figured that in his youth, Mr. Sharpe was probably no different than Tyrell was and was no doubt giddy to have a job that legitimized his menacing ways. Damon was careful to hide his keys from Mr. Sharpe’s experienced eyes.  
“Well I think it’s time you and your friends got an early start to your next class.” Mr. Sharpe snarled. ”Maybe you’ll actually make it there this time!”  
Tyrell, finally broken, lowered his eyes.   
“Yes, Mr. Sharpe”  
Tyrell started to walk past Damon. Mr. Sharpe took one last moment to glance at Damon, like someone trying to recall a familiar face but unable to place a name. He let it pass without another word and cowed Tyrone and Dewayne to get going.   
The bell rang and a swarm of students joined Tyrell’s crew in chaotic exodus from the lunchroom around the impassive stout mass of Mr. Sharpe’s portly frame. He barked out orders at indifferent students who rushed past to their destination.  
“I’ll see you after school, punk!” Tyrell snarled into Damon’s ear. “ Then we’ll see how bad you are when Sharpe aint around to watch your back!” Tyrell turned to go.  
Damon wrapped his hands around the keys and allowed some to slip between the openings between his fingers like a cacti. He tightened his grip even more until it was rock hard. The keys dug sharply into his palm. His arm tensed at his side and his hand started to feel numb. He reached out and touched Tyrell’s arm before he could disappear into the crowd.  
“Hey Tyrell.”  
Tyrell spun around like a man who had gone through a day’s worth of annoyances and had reached his limit.   
“What?”  
Damon coolly let his head settle into a sideways tilt and slowly nodded.  
“Why wait?”  
His fist flew from his side and looped a hard, crushing blow into Tyrell’s eye.


End file.
